


It Starts With Blood

by elliex



Series: It Starts With Blood [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU from The First Avenger, Winter Soldiers Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6697819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve seen this before,” Tony says, tossing the file back towards Coulson. “Winter Soldiers Project. Know it backwards and forwards, courtesy of dear ol’ dad.”</p><p>Coulson shakes his head. “You haven’t seen this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts With Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been on my mind for ages, and I finally had the opportunity to work out this first piece. It's an experiment, and I hope it's as intriguing an idea to you as it is to me. 
> 
> I'm writing this as a series of connected one-shots instead of a multi-chapter fic because my life currently resists a set writing schedule. For those interested, though, more is coming soon. I have the details mapped & am planning the next installment now. I also expect a lot of new inspiration from CACW!
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy!

\+ + + +

 

It starts with blood-splattered snow.

 

Yells of “Hey, pick on somebody your own size” and “I had him on the ropes, Buck.”

 

Memories of hot chocolate on snowy days, card games by candlelight, the bigger boy reading aloud as the feverish, smaller one sleeps.

 

He drops to his knees, clutching his head. He screams.

 

Prongs prick the back of his neck. He cringes before the shock and the inevitable fall into darkness.

 

He doesn’t know when the blankness of his mind becomes familiar. He does learn that flashes of the past are to be treated as the enemy.

 

Still, he treasures the impressions of a crooked smile, a warm hug. He learns not to betray when he remembers.

 

That doesn’t stop the scientist from putting him in the chair at least once a month.

 

His mind flows. He’s aware but not, working solidly to achieve the aims of his handlers. He knows this. He’s allowed to learn geographic locations, physical skills, target files.

 

He’s reliable. Ruthless. A wielder of death and destruction.

 

It’s his past that must be exorcised. It’s his present that he cannot understand. He has no future.

 

This time, he’s not alone. Instinctively, he knows the other soldier. No faces are familiar this time – the scientists who put him to sleep are not the ones who wake him. But he recognizes his comrade’s face.

 

He knows better than to reveal that. As they train, as they match step-for-step, punch-for-punch, he revels in the familiarity. They’ve worked together before – many times before, he’d guess. He just doesn’t know where – or when.

 

He thinks he’s alone in remembering until the day Winter 1 puts him into a chokehold. The trainers laugh from the sidelines as they grade their performance. They are never alone.

 

Winter 1 breathes into his ear: “Dnalsi Yenoc”

 

When he crumples to the ground, the trainers think it’s from excessive force. Winter 1 is verbally reprimanded for harming an asset.

 

They don’t know that when he falls, this time it’s not into darkness. It’s into memories.

 

\+ + + +

 

They’re sent to infiltrate a society soiree in New York City. They wear suits and long coats that hide their weapons, gloves that hide their metal hands. They are undercover as a couple, and Winter 2’s hand curls around his elbow.

 

Winter 1 likes that. He catches sight of their reflection and impulsively chuckles. They clean up well. Winter 2 catches his eye and smiles.

 

“What’s so funny?,” asks the voice in Winter 1’s ear.

 

“Nothing,” His tone is impassive. Winter 2 tenses.

 

A flash goes off in front of them. The photographer smiles and moves down the line. Winter 1 memorizes his face.

 

“We lose eyes and ears when you go inside,” the voice says. “Clean up after yourselves. Report to the pre-arranged coordinates afterwards.”

 

In unison, Winter 1 and 2 respond. “Yes, sir.”

 

\+ + + +

 

Coulson doesn’t bother knocking and enters just as Jarvis announces, “Sir, Agent Coulson has arrived.”

 

“Jarvis, what the hell!,” Tony exclaims dramatically. “I’ve told you not to interrupt—”

 

“Can it,” Coulson orders, dropping a file onto Tony’s desk, disregarding the spread of reports the man was already reviewing.

 

“I’ve seen this before,” Tony says, tossing the file back towards Coulson. “Winter Soldiers Project. Know it backwards and forwards, courtesy of dear ol’ dad.”

 

Coulson shakes his head. “You haven’t seen this.” He flips the file open and points to the color photo clipped to the first page. “That’s from last week.”

 

Tony stares, slack-jawed. “No,” he breathes. “It can’t be.”

 

Coulson drops heavily into his chair. “That’s what I said.”

 

“Did Howard know?”

 

Coulson regards Tony evenly; his eyes betray the anger he’s hiding. “Probably. Maybe not at first, but eventually? Yeah.”

 

Tony sighs. “You need Jarvis.”

 

“Please. SHIELD can’t know about this yet. This file – only we’ve seen it.”

 

“And the operative who took that photo?”

 

“Dead.”

 

“They do it?”

 

“Not sure. Either them or their handler. His camera was gone, and his throat cut, but he’d already sent me the pic via my secure link. Pretty sure he recognized them – by reputation if not original identities.”

 

Tony rakes his hands through his hair, and it stands up in messy points. “Alright then. I can call in Natasha and Clint – I’d say we keep it within that for now.”

 

“I agree with that assessment. Not even Fury knows.”

 

Tony leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “You don’t seem as shocked by this revelation as I am. Why not?”

 

Coulson presses his lips into a thin line. “Did I ever tell you about Moscow?”

 

“No,” Tony answers.

 

“It was my first Op. I was there to surveil a weapons hand-off.”

 

While Coulson talks, Tony pulls a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet under his desk and sets out two tumblers, pouring a generous helping in each. He hands one to Coulson.

 

“Thanks,” Coulson says, knocking back the whiskey like it’s nothing.

 

Tony’s eyebrows travel to his hairline. “Seconds?,” he asks, pouring the glass full without waiting for an answer.

 

“I saw them,” Coulson says. “I think – I think I knew, even then, who they were.” He stares off into space. “Turned out the hand-off was set up to expose that US weapons were being given to a terrorist organization.”

 

“Hydra?”

 

Coulson nods, and Tony can’t hide his surprise. “You were there to keep that quiet?”

 

“No. I was there because I was told that the US was aiding a rebel faction fighting against Hydra.”

 

“Lemme guess. Your orders came _from_ Hydra.”

 

“Yes. That was my first encounter with Hydra’s infestation.”

 

Tony’s eyes narrow. “How did you survive?”

 

“Good question,” Coulson says. “They let me live, Tony.”

 

“They let you see them, and you lived?” Tony flips the folder open and presses his finger to the center of the photo. “ _They_ let you live?”

 

“They were there for Hydra. Now, I think they were guarding one of Hydra’s top brass.” Before Tony can ask, Coulson shakes his head, “He didn’t give his name, only gave the order to kill everyone.”

 

“Where were you?”

 

“In a tree on the perimeter. The massacre was over before I understood what had happened. Then they split up and started taking out my team, one by one.” Coulson’s pale, and he swallows hard. “The Hydra officer and his minions had left; the terror twins were left to clean up.” He laughs and reaches inside his jacket pocket, pulling out an old set of dog tags that have a now-faded emblem Tony instantly recognizes.

 

Tony reaches for the tags.

 

Coulson continues, “He reached for my tags – I literally pissed myself I was so scared. He stared at them a long moment, and his eyes… something flashed in them. He motioned for his partner to come over. When he saw the tags, they looked at each other and said something I didn’t understand. I –”

 

Tony interrupts, “Do you remember what they said?”

 

Coulson gives him a dry look. “I have a phonetic translation in my personal journal.”

 

“I want it.”

 

Coulson nods and rolls his sleeve up, activating his prosthetic. He uses the controls to access his private log. “Jarvis, I’m sending this to you now.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Jarvis answers.

 

“Handy,” Tony quips. Coulson rolls his eyes. “So the terror twins talked and they – what? Gave you a pass because of a vintage piece of metal?” He hands the tags back to Coulson.

 

Coulson shrugs. “It seems that way. It also may have been that I was a wiry little recruit, straight out of basic.”

 

“Canon fodder no one would miss.” Coulson flinches, and Tony scrunches his face in apology. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s true, though,” Coulson acknowledges. “We were picked for a reason.”

 

Tony looks down at the picture again. “Yeah, I think you were,” he says. “You reminded them of – of _him_. You know, from before.”

 

Coulson nods his agreement. “I didn’t get it at the time. Now,” he says, nodding towards the photo. “I do.” He knocks back his second shot.

 

“Are you _sure_ it’s them?” Tony can’t keep the desperation from his voice because if this is true, if this is real? Then his dad helped screw the balance up so much worse than Tony could’ve ever imagined.

 

“I didn’t identify their faces. Their hair was black and long; they wore it pulled back. Masks covered their mouths. And they had metal arms for God’s sake – they’d been made into mirror images…” He trails off and takes a breath. “But, yeah, I’m sure – because there’s something that I left out of every report.”

 

“Even this one?,” Tony asks, pointing to his tablet.

 

“Even that one.” Coulson shifts in his chair. “I wish I’d put it together before – _believed_ it before, but I just…”

 

“Tell me,” Tony says, using his best impersonation of a soothing voice.

 

Coulson closes his eyes, as if he’s reliving the moment. “He said, ‘Let ‘em live, Buck.’”

 

Coulson opens his eyes, bright with tears, and meets Tony’s. “Shit,” Tony says.

 

“Shit indeed,” Coulson answers. “And there’s more.”

 

“I need more alcohol,” Tony mutters, refilling their glasses again.

 

Coulson pulls a small, clear plastic envelope from his suit pocket. “This was left in my apartment last night - while I was _sleeping_.” He hands it over, and Tony gasps.

 

“This is worth a fortune.”

 

“Not when it’s been defaced. Turn it over.”

 

Tony does. “Oh, shit.”

 

A ballpoint pen has sketched a bird in a tree across the smiling visage of Captain America, circa 1943.

 

“The bird’s you?”

 

“Apparently.”

 

Tony twists the card in the light. “There’s a message woven into the picture.”

 

“Extraction.”

 

“He’s gifted.”

 

“So the history books say.”

 

Tony drops back into his chair. “My childhood is ruined.”

 

Coulson reaches over and plucks the card from Tony’s hand. “Mine too.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “Okay, then. Extract the Terror Twins without the world knowing. Got it. Jarvis?”

 

“Yes sir?”

 

He shares a long look with Coulson as he gives the order:

 

“Perform a deep search on Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes. I want _everything_ , and I mean _everything_ , on these fuckers.”

 

“Search commencing,” Jarvis assures.

 

Tony tips the bottle towards Coulson. “Another? Cause I think it’s a good day to get shit-faced.”

 

Coulson holds his glass up without speaking. When his tumbler’s refilled, he taps Tony’s. “To Captain America and Bucky Barnes.”

 

“To Captain America and Bucky Barnes,” Tony repeats. Even to his ears, his voice rings hollow.

 

\+ + + +

**Author's Note:**

> You can subscribe to the series here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/454876


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